Violent
by Syntax
Summary: The war between mutants and humans seen through the eyes of a small boy. AU. Strong PG13 for language and violence.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: The X-men and all related belong to Marvel. Anything else is created by my own beautiful brain, and any relation beyond that is purely coincidence.

Author's note: Remy Lebeau is the main character, a boy of about four in the midst of a terrible strike against humanity. Rated a strong PG-13 for blood and language. Other characters will come about, and since I'm sort of writing this as I go, suggestions would be very welcome. Be patient for further parts to come, I tend to write excruciatingly slow.

Further more all parts in Remy's point of view will be written in present tense, while others will be written in past. This is my first try at such a style, so if anyone thinks it is too distracting and doesn't play out right, I'll change it. This is actually my first written story after a long stint of nothing, and serious to boot so hopefully I didn't screw up to horribly. 

Have fun ^_~

_Every place is the same _

_Every day is the same _

_Every place is the same _

_Violent _

_There's a conflicting sound _

_Hear the arguments loud _

_Every day, the sounds of the  _

_Violent violent violent _

_'Violent' _

_The Faint_

Dark, an enveloping force that chases out the day and brings about the pale face of the moon hanging out in the distance of a windowpane. The moonlight flitters in and settles lovingly on a sleeping form of a small boy who cuddles into the heap of blankets without notice of rising voices that float up from beneath him. The room is an innocent place with blue shades and fluffy white clouds painted onto the drywall, toys are scattered about the floor waiting to be patiently picked up by the boy's mother while the boy would return to make the mess minutes later.

The boy dreams peacefully of dragons and princesses as he bravely fights for the fair maiden's hand, just like the story books that are read to him as he falls into rest. A serene expression, a wistful exuberance. A delicate balance of life and innocence, unaware and uncaring of the bullets and screams of dieing pain that surround him outside his protective span of home. 

The parent's hushed whispers are settling again as they realize their son's slumber. 

They sit at the kitchen table with worried faces and they aren't sure of what to do.

"We should leave." The father says. "My brother will take us in."

The mother's face twists again as her tears threaten to fall. "And Remy?"

The father can say no more, and he looks away in guilt. "Then we have to travel North, as far as we can from here."

"Tonight." The mother replies, her eyes are serious and her face is taught in worry. A beautiful woman that is often envied from afar, a woman of wealth and prosperity who had wed a lieutenant in the armed forces to live happily with their small son. Her features were delicate as if carved from porcelain, her husband would say. A man who in all his rugged good looks would still be reduced to nothing when she looked at him. A perfect couple, a perfect life.

He nods, moving to stand when she catches his hand in hers. A look is passed between them and he bites his lip, nodding as she stands as well. He pulls her close, and she feels safe in his arms, a feeling she doesn't want to pass. 

"Know that I love you" He whispers. "I haven't a life without both of you." 

She breathes hard against his neck as once again she feels an oncoming rush of tears, but she fights them back, only squeezing him tighter as she presses a kiss to his lips.

"One suitcase each." He says after the moment has passed and she nods, pulling away from him. "Go and get Remy." 

He sleeps on without notice, without care. The boy smiles softly in his dream land as he receives a kiss on his brow from the fair maiden, standing at the foot of the vanquished enemy. The glass bursts with impact at the sound of an explosion and shrapnel sprays across the room. The mother hurries in, the bed overturned as the boy feels a trickle of wetness coming down his forehead. He reaches for her and she pushes the bed to gather him in her arms. His red eyes blink in wake, remnants of sleep still clinging and beckoning for him to come back. He refuses them with a polite shake of his head and his mother weeps while brushing the blood from his brow.

Another loud crack thunders through the boy's room while the mother carries him out, the father holding a bag of their things.

The air rushes with an oxygenated breeze of a shockwave and a light. The boy watches the windows in awe while his mother carries him with his father away from the house. The sky is orange, and he finds it strange that it would be raining gray. 

There are screams and yet more cracking noises. The boy cranes his head upwards as a plane zooms across the sky and he smiles at it as he sees the pilot smile back and a rumbling of the ground evokes gut-wrenching moans of pain around him. The mother clamps her hands over his ears, burying his face in her neck, whispering to him.  He tries to move, wants to see the colors and lights.

"Don't let go of my hand!" His father yells to his mother. "Don't let go!"

She's crying, the boy can tell. Her shoulders shake with fright. He wants to console her, to quiet her. His dream calls to him more, and he grins wanting to ask his mother if he can go. 

He raises his head to look where he might be going before his mother lets out a shriek, and he's scared when he looks down and his clothes are sticky and red and she falls to her knees when he starts to cry himself. The crowd pushes his father away from him, as he yells and screams their names, but the boy looks down at his mother who closes her eyes, and he doesn't want to go to sleep anymore, and he doesn't want her to either.

The boy's red eyes widen when he becomes jerked away from her. He doesn't want to leave, he doesn't want to leave her.

There are men in green uniforms holding machine guns, and the boy looks up when he sees a man with silver hair flying far above with a frown on his face. Suddenly the men with machine guns cry out in anger as they fire on the flying man, and the boy runs as hard as he can away from the noises, as far away as he can.

xXx

Eric Magnus Lensharr stared out at the flashing lights outside his window, his hands clasped behind him with a frown on his rigid features. The man is tall and imposing despite his age, which showed on his wrinkled face. His ice blue eyes drifted across the plane of ground before him, beyond him. 

"So it has finally come to this." He whispered against the glass, head bowing to turn away and face another man that sat with the same air of importance. Charles Xavier stared down at the brandy that sat on the table, willing it to give him the answers that he sought. 

"It was always going to come." He replied without looking up, and Magnus pursed his lips as he agreed. "The spark was just waiting to light the flame." 

He smirked. "I see a trend in humanity, Charles. Fear of the unknown." 

"Or fear of their own capabilities."

"Hmm." Magnus trailed off, turning away. "What do you say we do, old friend? Will you finally join in with me? Will you admit you were wrong about them?"

"I was never wrong." Xavier looked up to match Magnus' stare. "But as you said, they fear unknown. They follow one who promises answers. It is the way we all are."

A shockwave made itself known, rattling the fine china. Magnus frowned. "Do what you will, Charles. But I cannot stand by and stare as they destroy our very existence" He left the room then, and Xavier let out a cold breath of foreboding. 

"I doubt you can." Xavier sighed softly to the empty room, eyes not lifting away from their fixation on the brandy.

He tried so hard to stop this, wanted so much for peace among themselves. Humans and Mutants, a fear between them that Charles Xavier could not break, no matter how much he had prayed for it, how much he fought for it. It was a war now, and with so many mutant civilians being herded into captivity, afraid while armies of men march into battle against the 'enemy'. Those different from themselves, those they dread. 

He knew Magnus would be the first to act against them. He had rallied fighters for his own army, a resistance. But while the war waged, Charles couldn't help pray for the souls of the innocents. 

xXx

The boy breathes hard, eyes teary, tracking lines down his cheeks. He wants for his father to come for him now, he wants to go home now, and this is beginning to frighten him. 

The sky is dark, and the boy has fled into the inner alleys that were unfamiliar and frightening. He sobs quietly now, not wanting to be heard. He can still hear the shouts and firing, and he puts his hands to his ears like his mother had done, wanting to drown out the noise. He shuts his eyes, hoping that perhaps all this will go away, that everything would be as it was before.

Footsteps echo through the narrow pathways as they travel towards the boy, but he doesn't move, only slips down the wall, bringing his knees close to him, trying to disappear.

"Shit kid."

He hears the voice but doesn't open his eyes. He begins to hug his knees and breathes in shakily. 

"Are you hurt?"

He finally unclenches his eyelids, slowly looking up.

"Holy fuck…" It's one of the men in green, and he stares wide eyed at the boy, bringing up his gun. "A fucking mutie!"

He cocks the gun, but the boy stares at the man in green, not quite understanding what that means, and why the man in green is so angry with him. He wished his father could tell him, and then he remembers that his parents aren't here and begins to cry again.

The man doesn't move, his face wavers, then there is a gunshot. He blinks a couple of times, blood trickling into them before falling to his knees and to his side. The boy doesn't look, he doesn't care. He only cries. 

xXx

A trail of smoke wisped out of the end of a pistol, and the man known simply as Logan put it back into his holster. His disgust was plain at the soldier, a snarl set across his face and dark blue eyes glittering dangerously with hate. They traveled past the body, knitting his eyebrows as he finds the form of a small boy no older than six.

Logan had seen many things during his long life, and he was no stranger to war having been in the previous ones, but there were some things that he would never get used to. 

Walking  towards the boy, Logan kicked the soldier's body aside, kneeling down to be level with him.

The kid was from a good family, Logan could tell. His clothes were splotched with red, and his face dirty along with a pretty nasty cut along the top of his forehead. 

"Hey kid…" He said softly, "Its okay now." 

The boy doesn't seem to hear him, and Logan stands up, picking the boy up as he does. Its dangerous for him to stay in once place, and it would be better if he got the kid back to the others. The boy now buried his face into Logan's shoulder, and the he frowns, hurrying through the darkness. 


	2. Reality

Note: Oh my god, lol, I wrote another chapter! Only took me like half a year, hehe. Truth is its been sitting on my computer for a while now, and its un-betad, so all mistakes are mine.  Anyways, thanks to the people that reviewed the first part! Who knows, I might even write another chapter ^__^ 

Violent: Part 2

Somewhere, out in the secluded parts of southern Arkansas near the ruined city of Corset lie safe guarded plains. The place does not contain heavy barracks or any known important military standing, but standing tall, obvious in the sparsely wooded area there stands a 50 foot wall, shielding the fort within from prying enemy eyes. And Scott Summers stood, staring out, remembering as he watched human decency decay from the beginning.

It was the resistance's first stronghold in the south, after a sickening battle in the city where hundreds of civilians were lost, both mutant and non. It was always how battles were fought, no regard for human life or civility. If you were not with them, you were against them. And to become a prisoner… Scott shuddered at the thought. He had been a member of a liberation team before; he had seen the way these people were treated. It was disgusting. And Scott could not help but think that Magneto was right, it was Auschwitz all over again. 

Scott couldn't remember who struck first, it seemed like so long ago, and as he climbed down from the lookout, roaming the fort and watching young men and women become soldiers of a war they never asked to be a part of, he couldn't help feel filthy. Dirty for tainting them with war.

Summers paced in deep thought, his face haggard with too much of it, eyes seeking out the familiar faces of what once were the X-men.

Had there even been a time of hope? He damned himself for starting to forget what it was like, fighting for Charles Xavier's cause, for his dream with the hopes that this day would never come. When it did, the former leader of the X-men felt embittered, the irony of fighting along side his once enemy not lost on him. But he could not deny that Magnus was a brilliant tactician, and without him they would have never stood a chance. He would not deny it, but he didn't have to like the man.

A flash of red within the sea of faces, and even through his crimson tinted view, Scott would always recognize that particular shade. The color of his only sanity, Jean smiled at him when he caught her eye and some of the weariness lifted off Scott's face. 

"Scott." Jean Grey-Summers smiled warmly at him, though not quite reaching her blue eyes. "I needed to talk to you."

Nodding, Scott gestured Jean to walk to him. 

"How are you holding up?" Her voice is concerned, and Scott couldn't help the smile that crosses his face. 

"When you're near me, it doesn't matter how I feel."

Jean rolled her eyes, "Avoiding the question as usual," Her eyes then begin to smile, and Scott decided he liked it better. But as soon as it comes, the moment is gone and they are back in reality. "We have a problem."

Rubbing his eyes beneath his frames, Scott couldn't help but sigh. "We always have a problem."

Jean doesn't say anything to that, but continues on. "We're starting to run low on food. The supplies coming from north were disrupted by a surprise attack and they had to retreat. I guess we're only lucky they didn't follow them here. But at this rate, I don't think we'll last another month."

Scott frowned. "Xavier mentioned some mutant out in Mississippi that can grow plants. Perhaps when Logan's team returns, they can go scout for her."

Jean nodded; it's all he has to say. They would think of something, and satisfied, Jean reached up to place a soft kiss on Scott's lips. "Don't worry." She whispered as she turns to walk away, and Scott shakes his head. It's the last thing she can ask of him.

_"She is too thin,"_ Scott thought with a frown. They all were. After the battle at Corset, the "norms" realized they could not defeat them with brute force, they turned to other tactics as a last ditch effort.  Germ warfare. 

No one was un-affected. It was just not an approach they had anticipated, and all the survivors of the city had died horribly, painfully. Even the non-mutants….even the enemies.  

It had been a last ditch effort for the last remaining norms and many of their own were caught and infected. They were abandoned.

 Scott and the others had tried to save whom they could, Henry McCoy working feverously to quell the disease but it spread like the plague. Too many were lost. Even now there lay a heavy layer of virus within the city, and they fled, taking hold out in the plains.  

The fort housed the few who did live, and re-enforcements from the resistance were sent to man it. The children were the first to die, and now they only had two who young ones that lived, returning to health quickly. Scott caught a glimpse of Sara and Bobby fighting as they usually did. Another rare smile graced his features. There were some enemy soldiers that had survived as well, and they were kept a close watch on. Scott hoped more answers from them would be forthcoming, but those of the resistance were not barbarians, even if some had joined their cause. He would not give the order to kill them. 

They were all weak, still recovering. The virus may have been beaten and the area clean, but the side effects were persistent, and Scott felt frustrated that he could not fight with the others, that he had to stay here and recover. Magnus took two teams out into New Orleans, a place under recent attack after important mutant rebels were discovered there. A rescue mission, and though Scott couldn't be there to see it, he knew no one would be spared the horror. Logan headed the second team, and for once Scott believed it was a smart decision. No matter how much that man would continue to irritate him, he couldn't deny Logan was an intelligent commander.

"Sir!"

Scott looked up to find the source of the shout. 

A sentry looked out into the horizon. "Someone is approaching!"

Scott frowned, his brows furrowed in concern as he climbed up into the sentry tower, squinting out to sight a trail of kicked up dirt. The sentry strained his eyes through the binoculars, then lowered them with surprise. 

"Its Logan, sir."

"What?"

Scott grabbed the binoculars himself, looking through and indeed it was the gruff man with something in front of him that he couldn't make out. "Speak of the devil…what the hell is he doing back so early?" Scott muttered, and his frown deepened.  

xXx

The boy is so tired, his eyes closed yet not quite asleep. He rides with the gruff man, holding on tight, shivering. He's so cold yet so warm. He wishes he were home in his bed, he wishes this wasn't real. 

He remembers voices, many of them all mixed together. He wouldn't let go of the gruff man, and when forced he had started to cry. He wanted his mother, he wanted his father. Then a voice different than the others, and the boy had lifted his eyes, widening when he saw the man with silver hair and ice blue eyes.

He clings now, tired eyes watching the changing scenery, the loud noise of the engine, and the boy lets it all lull him into sleep. This time, he does not dream.

xXx

Jean looked away from the probing and undisguised worry her husband sent towards her, out to those who had not given up their fight. It was a harsh world they lived in, and the optimistic expression she had worn fell. She had to be strong for her husband, but sometimes the weariness would be just too much.

Scott was still sick. She knew he was, but he refused to admit it, standing out at the lookout, wishing he could be a part of the team once more. He was a man who could not admit defeat, even when the odds were against him. And she loved him for it. 

Jean lived day by day, she hated the bleakness the future had to offer. The war was not to end soon, and she hated the innocents caught in the middle. Eyes glancing up, Jean found Sarah amongst the people, the bony protrusions on her body marking her so different. It wasn't easy for them; Jean often thought that she could have blended in with normal society. Wouldn't have to witness all this hate and destruction. But she knew she couldn't, not with children such as Sarah suffering.

She smiled at the girl as she caught her eye, and received an eye roll. Puberty was always a fun experience, she thought with a smirk. But strangely, Bobby was not beside her. Unusual to be sure, the two were never apart for all they claimed to hate each other. 

Faint calls were exchanged, and Jean turned to see the gate being opened to let in an arrival. Furrowing her brows, she walked towards the source, finding the roar of a motorcycle as explanation enough. 

Logan

Her lip curled up slightly at the sight of the man, but exactly what was he doing back alone? Squinting her eyes, Jean thought she could make out a bundle in his arms. Her husband soon appeared, climbing down from the sentry tower, his face not pleased. Well wasn't that typical. As raised voices approaching argument began, Jean shook her head, deciding to intervene.

Her eyes widened then as the bundle in Logan's arms moved slightly.  

"This was not a smart decision! Just imagine what could happen if the boy was sick? There are many still weak here, still recovering. If that boy is infected, the others would have no chance!"

Logan gritted his teeth. "So you want me to leave the kid? Let him die? Is that what you want?"

"Of course not!" Scott's face was strained. "But I'm thinking realistically here, I want the best for these people"

Jean frowned as she drew near. Scott had a valid point, but Logan was getting more aggravated by the moment. Glancing down to look at the small boy, his eyes were shut in sleep or shock, the pallor of his skin terribly pale. Dried blood matted his hair, and dressed only in pajamas, his small fists gripped Logan's shirt with surprising intensity. 

There was blood staining his clothes as well, and Logan caught her look.

"Its not his"

She glanced up at him, not exactly liking that response either.

"Where did you find him?" Scott's voice interrupted, and Logan's face hardened. 

"Found him during the mission, not many civilians survived that one. Kid was the youngest we found, Magnus ordered him taken back here."

Scott shook his head at that, about to open his mouth to say more, but Jean shot him a look. "It doesn't matter what happened, the boy needs medical attention." Her face turned worried, and her hand reached out to feel the boy's forehead, then tenderly stroked the hair out off his face. 

He was the youngest child she had seen for some time. At the beginning, Mutant couples were ordered by law to become sterile. Babies and children were taken from the homes of registered mutants. No one knew what was done to them, but Jean knew they were gone. She had felt it. 

After that, they decreased even more from disease and famine. Parents weren't able to protect them, their mutation more physical than of any use. Herded into camps, the adults were tortured and killed, and Jean felt the gut wrenching feeling of being unable to save them. They could only try and save themselves.

She reached out then, taking the boy from Logan. She would not let this one die.

The Medlab was not nearly as fancy or innovative as their previous one. It was more of a room where Henry McCoy almost always stayed, toiling away at a potential cure for almost everything. 

It was never easy. Whenever a vaccine for one biological weapon was created, they would use an altogether different form. Hank would use what resources he could, a mass of different salvaged equipment connected together in a labyrinth of wires and metal. A crude solar panel provided the menial source of power, but it was almost always useless to try and grapple with it. Forge probably could have created something more useful, but his time had been short with the terrible virus eating away at him. Hank had found the cure all too late. 

Hank's furry blue hide sat perched beside Bobby Drake, holding his wrist as he tenderly probed the tissue to find the break.

"Ow!"

"I'm most regretful of your pain, Bobby, but you did do this to yourself." He patiently reminded his patient as he sat squirming. Bobby frowned. 

"Well I couldn't back out on a dare. She'd have been so smug if I did."

Hank shook his head, reaching up with one clawed finger to push his glasses back. "We'll have to set it, so this will probably hurt."

"OW!"

"I did warn you."

Bobby glowered at the large blue doctor as he wrapped the wrist around a makeshift brace. It was a normal occurrence for Hank to be patching up the youngest member of their little family, and he simply smiled a toothy grin.

His attention was caught however at the flurry of motion from the door. Jean burst in, holding what looked to be a small child in her arms. Hank's face turned serious, a question on the tip of his tongue. Yet he was Doctor first, and gestured Jean to lay the child down on the cot.

He glanced down to Bobby. "You can go, Bobby. Just keep it easy on that arm."

Bobby nodded slightly, and Hank rushed off to tend to the new arrival. Yet he didn't leave, curiosity winning over as he observed the little kid Jean had brought in. Hank was poking and prodding him like he had to Bobby, and he wondered where the kid came from. 

"What happened to your arm, Bobby?"

Not having seen Jean come to his side, he didn't look up, attention still fixed on the happenings of the other cot. "Fell. Sara dared me to hop across the beam on one foot."

"Bobby, that was really stupid! You could have been hurt a lot worse!" Her voice was anxious, and Bobby knew she was more concerned about the other kid, but let it go. They both felt silent, and Jean grasped Bobby's shoulder, watching Hank work.

With a small penlight in his hand, Hank leaned over the child, opening his eye to shine the light. Slowing briefly in what seemed surprise, he let out an interested 'Hmm,' and continued on. "Jean, would you get me some clean water and that roll of bandage next to Bobby."

Jean nodded, complying as Hank continued. "The boy seems to be all right. He has no broken bones, and his pulse and heart rate seem fine. He doesn't have any crust around his eyes or mouth as is normal symptoms of the virus we experienced, but I cant be sure until I analyze his blood. The cut will need stitches though, and he is suffering from malnutrition and shock."

Bobby watched as the cut was cleaned, and a needle sterilized. Turning away, he winced at the groan he heard from the kid as the cut was stitched. No anesthetic.. he was glad that the kid was at least asleep. Bandage having been secured, Hank turned to Jean. "Id like to keep him here to monitor, but if all is well, he should be better in a few days." Hank glanced down at the boy. "Where did he come from?"

"Logan brought him here. The teams sent out to New Orleans caught great resistance."

Bobby was pretty sure the two adults had forgotten he was still here, but he frowned, staring at the kid. He was a little guy for sure but not skin and bones like the other kids Bobby had seen when he was living in the city. That place, it had been bad. Bobby didn't remember much of what happened, just a lot of screaming, a lot of yelling, a lot of noise. 

Then he had woken up, and Hank was hovering above him like a big blue bear, and Bobby had laughed at the strangeness of it all. Now as he stared at the new kid, he wondered exactly how much this place would change. 


End file.
